


Homecoming

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Homecoming, M/M, Separation, gifset fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: But Hannibal did wake, and send word immediately he could write, in a trembling hand, that he had made a place for them, if only Will could wait.  That there was nothing to forgive, and that he would know the reverse was also true if Will waited for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirenja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/gifts).



> This is written for one of the magnificent [Sirenja's gifsets](https://tmblr.co/Z3kt0r2F6gO_Z) for #HannibaLibre. Thank you so much for the opportunity to write for you!

Will dreamed often of Hannibal. It didn't matter if he slept in a stiff medical bed with steel rails, or a decadent king with thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets; he woke, always, with Hannibal on his mind.

The dreams had begun after they had first been parted, after the severity of Hannibal's injuries had required him to be transported to a private trauma center, a place that Will could not follow, being in the middle of Savannah, GA and far too public a place to Will to be out in the streets. Chiyoh had promised to keep in touch with him, and to notify him when Hannibal woke from his coma.

If he woke.

The unstated part of her promise being that if Hannibal didn't wake, Chiyoh would notify him in a way that promised to be both sudden and permanent. 

But Hannibal did wake, and send word immediately he could write, in a trembling hand, that he had made a place for them, if only Will could wait. That there was nothing to forgive, and that he would know the reverse was also true if Will waited for him.

Will did wait, in a quiet old cabin off the shores of the Atlantic near Jacksonville, FL. First there were letters, handwriting slowly becoming more familiarly elegant as Hannibal wrote of healing and the cheerful cruelty of therapy. Will wrote back with tales of fishing on the coast, healing from his own broken bones and injuries, so much less severe since Hannibal had broken his fall by hitting the water first. The first time they skyped, Will could not look away from the blackened bruises around Hannibal's eyes, but Hannibal assured him that this was much less dramatic than it looked. They spoke often, sometimes just sitting in each other's company, Will's hand touching the screen of his cheap laptop. Sometimes Hannibal's fingertips touched his in return.

And then one day an envelope had arrived by private courier, with travel documents and tickets for a city in Cuba called Camagüey. With them was a note that said, simply, I will be with you soon.

It had been a month now, and Will woke from dreams of Hannibal often, in the decadent king bed with a thousand count sheets that was now his but would be theirs, in a little house in a blind alley in the winding streets of the Old City, a confusion of twisting narrow streets and passages that suited his own anxious thoughts. He could not find internet steady enough to support skyping, so he and Hannibal texted often, and sometimes called, and Hannibal would always tell Will, soon, my love. Soon.

Will woke that morning with the image of Hannibal slipping on a robe and walking out the door still in his dreaming mind's eye. Longing cramped his belly. He turned his head to bury it back into his pillow, only to find his dreams were more persistent than usual, because the smell of eggs and sausage and coffee permeated his senses. How often had he dreamed of this-- waking to Hannibal sleep-mussed in the kitchen, pouring heavenly coffee from his monstrous contraption, browning breakfast in the iron skillets that hung on the walls of the kitchen. A clink of a cup against the marble counter rang in his ears, and he realized, all in a heady rush, that this wasn't a dream.

Fumbling into his robe, ties trailing behind him, Will stumbled sleepily from the bed into the hallway and from there to the kitchen. He stood, dumbstruck in the doorway, as Hannibal poured a second cup of coffee, gazing at him with such purity of joy that Will could hardly breathe. He took a step forward.

"Hannibal." He felt tears well up in his eyes, and was not ashamed. Hannibal moved to him, smelling of coffee and breakfast and the stale sweat of travel and exhaustion. It was the sweetest scent he had ever breathed in.

"Will." And Hannibal reached out his hand, so that their fingertips touched, and then their fingers entwined, and then their bodies wrapped around each other, as tightly wound together as their lives were now impossible to extricate from one another.


End file.
